WOODSTOCK 


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Woodstock,  an  Essay  by  Richard  Le  Gallienne 

Illustrations 

Nocturne,  by  Peggy  Bacon 

Miss  Katherine  Rosen,  by  George  Bellows 

Forest  Pool,  by  John  F.  Carlson 

Meditation,  by  John  Carroll 

Autumn  Lights,  by  Frank  Chase 

Red  Ba  rns,  by  Konrad  Cramer 

New  Mexican  Landscape,  by  Andrew  Dasburg 

Statuette,  by  Aljeo  Faggi 

Woodstock  Meadows,  by  Birge  Harrison 

Bead  Embroidered  Bag,^jv  Mary  Elizabeth  Jenkinson 

Sculpture,  by  Grace  Mott  Johnson 

Landscape,  by  Georgina  Klitgard 

Morning  in  Midsummer,  by  Leon  Kroll 

Grey  Day,  by  Harry  Leith-Ross 

Landscape,  by  Carl  Eric  Lindin 

Still  Life,  by  Henry  Lee  McFee 

Landscape,  by  Paul  Rohland 

Railroad  Bridge,  by  Charles  Rosen 

Southern  Slav,  by  Eugene  Speicher 

Alan,  by  Rudolf  Wetterau 

Idyll,  by  Warren  Wheelock 


page 

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THE 

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AMERICA’S  LEADING  JOURNAL 
OF  ART  AND  LETTERS 

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Wyndham  Lewis 

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Vachel  Lindsay 

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Johan  Bojer 

Henry  McBride 

Robert  Bridges 

Thomas  Mann 

Van  Wyck  Brooks 

John  Marin 

Ivan  Bunin 

Henri  Matisse 

Padraic  Colum 

Qeorge  Moore 

Joseph  Conrad 

Pablo  Picasso 

Benedetto  Croce 

Ezra  Pound 

Charles  Demuth 

Marcel  Proust 

Andre  Derain 

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Hunt  Diederich 

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May  Sinclair 

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irLTiJTJTJTn-njiJTmiTLruTmTriJTJi-ruTJTJcnjTJTJiJiJTruiJTnjTjijijTnjT 


By  Richard  Le  Gallienne 


For  Woodstock  to  be  distinguished  is  an  old 
story.  If  she  is  not  precisely  “older  than  the  rocks  among  which  she  sits/’ 
she  is,  at  all  events,  just  as  old.  And  they  are  among  the  oldest  and  most 
distinguished  rocks  in  the  world.  In  geological  aristocracy  the  Catskill 
Mountains  are  equal  to  any  and  superior  to  most.  No  geologist  can  omit 
reference  to  them,  stretching  back  as  they  do  into  that  Palaeozoic,  or 
Primary  age,  with  the  remnants  of  which,  it  will  be  recalled,  Bret  Harte’s 
“Society  Upon  the  Stanislaws”  playfully  engaged  in  warfare,  and  famous 
among  the  learned  for  that  Old  Red  Sandstone  which  took  Abner  Dean  of 
Angel’s  in  the  abdomen  on  that  spirited  occasion.  If  I add  that  the  in- 
habitants of  Woodstock  go  back  to  the  Trilobites,  the  reader  will  need  no 
further  assurance  of  their  fossilized  antiquity.  Ancient  Egypt,  so  to  speak, 
has  “nothing  on”  Mink  Hollow.  In  the  days  of  the  Trilobites,  however, 
the  Catskills  were  probably  not  so  beautiful  as  they  are  now  or  when 
Washington  Irving  saw  them,  and  wrote  that  description  of  them  which 
still  best  pictures  them  to  the  reading  eye. 

“Whoever,”  he  says,  “has  made  a voyage  up  the  Hudson  must  remem- 
ber the  Catskill  Mountains.  They  are  a dismembered  branch  of  the  great 
Appalachian  family,  and  are  seen  away  to  the  west  of  the  river,  swelling 
up  to  a noble  height,  and  lording  it  over  the  surrounding  country.  Every 
change  of  season,  every  change  of  weather,  every  hour  of  the  day  produces 
some  change  in  the  magical  hues  and  shapes  of  these  mountains,  and  they 
are  regarded  by  all  the  good  wives,  far  and  near,  as  perfect  barometers. 
When  the  weather  is  fair  and  settled  they  are  clothed  in  blue  and  purple, 
and  print  their  bold  outlines  on  the  clear  evening  sky,  but  sometimes, 
when  the  rest  of  the  landscape  is  cloudless,  they  will  gather  a hood  of  gray 
vapors  about  their  summits,  which  in  the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  will 
glow  and  light  up  like  a crown  of  glory.” 

This  is,  of  course,  Irving’s  descriptive  introduction  to  that  story  of  Rip 
Van  Winkle  which  has  long  since  taken  its  place  among  the  great  fairy- 
tales of  the  world.  Some  of  us  are  still  boyish  enough  to  feel  a thrill  in 
knowing  that  we  are  living  in  the  neighborhood  of  that  famous  legendary 
happening,  of  the  truth  of  which  no  one  who  has  felt  the  peculiar  magic  of 
the  Catskills  can  have  a moment’s  doubt.  Legend  and  romance,  indeed, 

[ 7 ] 


are  of  the  very  breath  we  draw  in  these  haunted  mountains,  and  that  is 
one  reason,  quite  apart  from  their  salutary  breezes,  why  they  are  so  good 
to  live  in,  ministering  as  they  do  to  that  imaginative  part  of  us  that  withers 
in  the  air  of  cities,  and  for  that  reason,  among  many  others  it  is  easy  to  see 
how  nature  herself  had  predestined  Woodstock  to  become,  as  it  has,  a 
refuge  and  a centre  for  the  race  of  dreamers  who  have  now  given  it  its  cul- 
minating significance. 

Before  dealing  with  the  fortunes  of  that  seed  of  dreams  carried  overseas 
from  Oxford  by  Mr.  Whitehead,  let  us  glance  briefly  at  the  history  of  the 
soil  that  had  been  preparing  to  receive  it  from  the  days  of  the  Trilobites 
till  the  apparition  of  Mr.  Bolton  Brown  at  Mead’s  boarding-house  as 
hereinafter  to  be  related.  When  on  October  15,  1609,  Henry  Hudson 
brought  the  Half  Moon — “de  Halve  Maan” — to  anchor  near  the  mouth 
of  the  Rondout,  under  the  lee  of  “those  other  mountains  which  lie 
from  the  river  side,”  he  “found  very  loving  people  and  very  old  men,” 
and  records  “we  were  very  well  used.”  Those  “very  loving  people,” 
who  subsequently  cannot  be  said  to  have  been  “very  well  used  ” in  return, 
have  long  since  disappeared  from  those  mountain  wildernesses,  but,  though 
the  Indian  has  vanished,  those  earlier  inhabitants  which  shared  them 
with  him  still  survive,  and  those  present-day  sojourners  in  Woodstock 
whose  natures  answer  to  “the  call  of  the  wild”  and  thrill  responsively  to 
the  fact  that  not  only  have  they  painters,  musicians,  poets,  weavers  and 
potters  for  neighbors,  but  also  bears,  deer,  wild-cats,  and  rattlesnakes, 
with  other  ferae  naturae , can  be  assured  that  this  is  no  romantic  illusion. 
No  winter  goes  by  without  bringing  its  bag  of  a dozen  or  more  bears,  and 
those  who  care  for  bear’s  meat  can  buy  it  in  the  local  markets  along  with 
the  flesh  of  the  more  usual  animal  victims.  If  you  tramp  through  the 
woods  across  from  Overlook  to  Plaat  Clove  you  are  just  as  likely  to  meet 
with  a bear  as  any  other  pedestrian,  though  you  will  probably  meet  with 
neither.  I have  heard  a wild-cat  yowling  not  far  from  the  desk  where  I 
write  these  words,  and  more  fortunate  friends  of  mine  have  seen  one 
crouching,  green-eyed  on  a neighboring  wood-pile,  or  standing  fascinated 
before  the  head-lights  of  an  approaching  automobile.  A doe  and  her  young 
grazing  peacefully  in  your  “lots”  are  no  uncommon  apparitions,  and  on 
your  lonely  rambles,  the  red  fox  will  often  cross  the  woodland  path,  soft- 
footed  as  sleep;  and  in  the  “California  Quarries”  half-way  up  the  moun- 
tain-side to  Overlook,  should  you  come  across  an  odour  curiously  like 
ammonia,  you  may  as  well  know  that  a prosperous  colony  of  rattlesnakes 
is  not  far  off.  “Panther  Kill”  is  the  name  of  a stream  that  hints  at  another 
picturesque  inhabitant,  as  “Bear’s  Wallow” — the  name  of  a morass  high 
up  on  the  mountain  facing  Mink  Hollow — tells  its  own  tale.  The  reader, 
however,  must  not  expect  always  to  find  the  bears  “wallowing”  there,  at 
the  end  of  his  arduous  climb,  nor  must  he  be  misled  into  thinking  that  the 
village  of  Bearsville  is  named  after  its  bears.  Alas!  for  romance,  it  would 
be  more  correctly  written  “ Baehrsville,”  after  a certain  merchant  pedler 
who,  some  decades  ago,  laid  the  foundations  of  the  comprehensive  store  in 

[ 8 } 


that  place — a sort  of  Catskill  “Bon  Marche” — now  in  the  hands  of  the 
almost  aboriginal  Shultis  family.  As  one  gathers  from  the  same  constantly 
recurring  Dutch  names  on  the  village  stores,  the  rural  delivery  mail  boxes 
and  the  head-stones  in  the  church-yard,  Woodstock  was  first  settled  by 
the  Dutch — “Holland-Dutch,”  as  the  farmers  say.  According  to  one 
account  (that  is  in  Mr.  T.  Morris  Longstreth’s  pleasant  book  on  “The 
Catskills”),  Martin  Snyder,  in  1728,  with  “ten  sons  and  uncounted 
daughters,”  was  the  original  pioneer.  Philip  Bonesteel  arrived  later,  and 
the  old  Hudler  farm  still  preserves  his  memory,  as  the  “ David,  Moses  and 
Peter  Short  Place”  at  Wittenberg,  sometimes  called  Yankeetown,  recalls 
another  early  arrival,  Peter  Short.  His  date  is  given  as  1776,  and  by  1788, 
the  names  of  Ephriam  Van  Keuren,  Jacob  Du  Bois,  Philip  Shultis,  Henry 
Shultis,  Peter  Van  De  Bogart,  John  Hutchins,  William  Elting,  Johannes 
Keip,  Elias  Hasbrouck  (the  first  supervisor),  William  Snyder  and  Andrew 
Reisler  are  found  in  the  village  records.  The  Old  Tannery  Brook  reminds 
one  that  the  earliest  Woodstock  industry  was  tanning,  which,  as  it  in- 
volved stripping  the  bark  from  large  stretches  of  the  primeval  woodland, 
gradually  prepared  the  way  for  those  flourishing  farmsteads  which  have 
flung  green  pastures  and  waving  cornfields  across  the  Woodstock  valley. 
Glass  making  was  another  prosperous  industry.  From  this  the  village  of 
Glasco  on  the  Hudson,  a little  below  Saugerties  takes  its  name.  There 
used  to  be  a store-house  there  with  “Glass  Co.”  painted  on  it,  and  it  was 
from  that  inscription  that  the  name  came  into  being.  The  “Co.”  had  its 
own  dock,  and  a sloop  that  brought  sand,  soda  and  other  necessary 
chemicals  from  New  Jersey.  The  glass  factory  itself  was  situated  at  Shady, 
previously  known  as  Berlin,  where  its  ruins  are  still  to  be  seen.  It  com- 
menced business  in  1825,  the  names  of  Pelton  Orr  and  Hall  being  among 
its  stockholders,  and  it  prospered  for  many  years,  Marius  Schoonmaker 
of  Kingston,  Peter  Elwyn,  William  Cooper  and  William  Johnson  later 
remodeling  the  company,  which  was  run  on  a cooperative  basis.  The 
“Glasco  Turnpike”  perpetuates  the  memory  of  the  route  through  Shady, 
Rock  City,  Daisy  and  Mount  Marion,  by  which  the  glass  products — 
samples  of  which  in  the  shape  of  quaint  ornaments  are  still  to  be  found  in 
the  older  farm  houses,  where  they  will  tell  you  they  were  “blowed  up  to 
Shady” — were  transported  to  the  “Glass  Co.’s”  dock.  But,  up  Overlook 
Mountainside,  near  Meads,  are  to  be  found  the  relics  of  a still  older  glass 
factory,  of  which  little  is  known  except  that  it  was  owned  by  that  same 
Christian  Baehr  alreadv  referred  to  as  the  founder  of  the  Bearsville  Bon 
Marche. 

Woodstock  was  settled  too  late  to  suffer  from  that  Indian  warfare  of 
which  Kingston,  which  goes  back  a century  earlier,  had  its  grim  share; 
but  it  has  made  a considerable  contribution  to  the  collection  of  Indian 
relics,  such  as  arrow  heads,  tomahawks,  beads,  ornamented  shells  and 
pictographic  records  upon  stone  and  wood,  at  the  old  State  House  in 
Kingston.  A find  of  particular  interest  was  made  a few  years  ago  when 
Cooper’s  Pond,  to  the  left  of  the  road  between  Shady  and  Lake  Hill,  was 


being  drained  to  make  it  worthy  of  providing  the  highly  fastidious  water 
drinkers  of  Kingston  with  part  of  their  water  supply.  This  was  a large 
stone  curiously  carved  with  grotesque  heads  and  other  forms,  which 
passed  into  the  possession  of  the  Van  De  Bogart  family  at  Shady. 

Woodstock  was  not  incorporated  until  April  II,  1787,  two  weeks  or  so 
before  Washington’s  first  inauguration,  and  such  troubles  as  it  had  with 
the  Indians  were  with  those  in  pay  of  the  British  forces  during  the 
Revolutionary  War,  who  would  swoop  down  into  the  valley  and  make 
captives,  to  be  marched  through  the  Catskill  wildernesses  to  imprison- 
ment across  the  Canadian  border.  ^Fake”  Indians,  however,  played  a 
picturesque  part  in  the  famous  Rent  War.  Briefly  stated,  the  troubles 
which  swept  over  New  York  State,  involving  not  only  Ulster  County 
but  Delaware,  Greene,  Rensselaer,  Albany,  Columbia  as  well — some 
seventy  years  ago,  had  its  origin  in  the  enormous  grants  of  land  made  to 
favorites  of  the  crown  in  pre-Revolutionary  times,  and  in  the  insecurity  of 
tenure  which  had  come  about  from  an  over-lapping  of  these  great  estates 
and  their  consequent  undefined  boundaries,  as  well  as  from  the  system  of 
“ three-life  leases  ” — a lease,  that  is,  extending  during  the  life  of  the  lessor, 
his  heir  and  his  heir’s  heir.  When  this  lease  ended  the  great  landlords  re- 
fused to  sell,  and,  moreover,  in  some  cases,  the  tenants  found  themselves 
at  the  mercy  of  rival  landholders,  both  demanding  rents.  Woodstock  and 
its  neighborhood  was  for  the  most  part  included  in  the  Livingston  grant, 
which,  like  all  such  grants,  was  technically  supposed  to  stretch  across  the 
continent  in  a vast  slice  to  the  Pacific  Ocean.  Determined  to  end  their 
vexatious  conditions,  some  of  the  tenants  organized  themselves  into  a 
secret  society,  subdivided  into  companies  of  ten.  They  disguised  them- 
selves as  Indians  and  met  in  secluded  places  to  plan  resistance  to  the  rent 
collectors,  whom  they  would  on  occasion  tar  and  feather.  Sometimes  they 
went  further.  The  early  history  of  the  struggle  began  with  the  assassina- 
tion of  Captain  Gerardus  Hardenburg,  a particularly  high-handed  land- 
lord who  had  evicted  his  tenants,  and  who  was  found  by  the  roadside  with 
a bullet  in  his  head,  one  of  his  evicted  tenants  boasting  afterwards  that  he 
had  “shot  a fat  buck.”  But  it  was  not  until  1845  that  the  '"war”  reached 
its  height  and  it  was  further  complicated  by  some  of  the  tenants  con- 
temptuously dubbed  “Tories”  taking  the  part  of  the  landlords.  The 
“ Indians  ” had  organized  a system  of  mobilizing  by  the  blowing  of  dinner- 
horns  at  the  approach  of  evicting  sheriffs  or  other  landlord’s  “agents.” 
One  example  of  these  “Indians”  in  action  may  be  given:  “Benjamin 
Winne,  near  The  Corner,  had  refused  to  pay  rent.  The  sheriff  came  with 
legal  documents  to  serve.  The  head  of  the  family  was  not  at  home,  but 
Mrs.  Winne  ascertaining  the  officer’s  business,  blew  a blast  on  the  horn 
that  was  taken  up  and  repeated  by  all  within  hearing,  and  again  and  again 
repeated,  till  soon  the  horns  were  blowing  for  miles  around,  in  all  directions, 
arousing  the  ‘Indians’  of  Shandaken,  Little  Shandaken,  and  Woodstock  to 
the  need  for  their  services.  The  sheriff  knew  too  well  what  the  matter  was 
and  fled  on  horseback,  running  his  horse.  At  Lake  Hill  he  was  headed  off 

[ 10] 


by  a party  of  Woodstock  ‘Indians/  dragged  from  his  horse  into  the 
mud,  his  papers  taken  from  him  and  destroyed  and  the  thoroughly  scared 
official  sent  back  to  Kingston  with  a warning  never  again  to  invade  the 
hunting  grounds  of  the  ‘Down-Renters.’  ” 

Talking  of  land  tenure,  the  method  of  acquiring  land,  in  early  tannery 
days,  according  to  old  Woodstock  residents,  was  this.  A man  took  first 
possession  of  a tract  he  desired  by  cutting  down  a pine  tree,  and  when  the 
pine  tree  rotted  (in  about  fifty  years)  he  either  lost  the  land  or  acquired  a 
lease  of  it  for  a small  sum,  or  in  return  for  his  services  to  the  tannery. 

There  is  a curious  legend  attaching  to  an  elm  tree  in  Woodstock  church- 
yard which  must  find  its  place  in  these  desultory  notes  of  Woodstock 
history.  Just  over  a century  ago  there  lived  near  the  village  a middle-aged 
man  of  the  Van  De  Bogart  family,  married  to  a beautiful  young  wife  of 
eighteen  of  whom  he  was  exceedingly  jealous.  This  jealousy  was  the  cause 
of  many  quarrels  which  came  to  a tragic  conclusion  in  this  way.  The  hus- 
band returning  from  his  work,  one  August  evening  in  1821,  found  his 
house  in  darkness — no  wife  and  no  supper  ready.  In  his  anger  he  cut  a 
stout  stick  from  an  elm  tree  nearby,  and  awaited  the  return  of  his  wife. 
When  at  last  she  returned  from  innocent  ministrations  at  the  bed-side  of 
a sick  neighbor,  he  fell  upon  her  and  beat  her  so  brutally  with  his  elm 
cudgel,  that  she,  being  near  to  the  delivery  of  a child,  died  in  giving  it 
birth  the  following  day,  taking  the  dead  child  with  her  to  the  grave.  But 
with  it  too,  though  she  refused  to  incriminate  her  husband,  she  took  the 
elm  stick  that  had  brought  her  there,  praying  as  she  died  that  it  might 
take  root  in  her  heart  and  grow  into  a tree,  as  a reminder  to  her  own 
husband,  and  a warning  to  husbands  in  general.  So,  with  the  stick  tightly 
held  against  her  heart  she  was  buried,  and,  in  course  of  time,  her  prayer 
was  answered.  The  stick  sprouted,  struck  its  roots  through  her  young 
body,  and  anyone  who  doubts  the  story  has  only  to  seek  out  in  the  Wood- 
stock  churchyard  a grave  between  the  head  and  foot-stone  of  which  a 
great  elm  has  thrust  its  way — a grave  bearing  the  inscription : “ In  memory 
of  Catherine,  wife  of  John  Van  De  Bogart  (also  her  infant  child)  who  died 
August  2,  1821,  aged  18  years,  two  months  and  13  days.” 

In  the  century  and  a half  or  so  since  its  first  settlement,  the  tanners  and 
farmers  together  had  changed  the  primitive  wilderness  into  a green  and 
prosperous  valley,  and,  the  fame  of  Catskill  air  and  streams  having  gone 
abroad,  the  vanguard  of  summer  visitors  from  New  York  and  Albany 
began  to  make  their  appearance,  and  Overlook  House,  the  white  cara- 
vansary in  solitary  altitude  on  the  wooded  crest  of  that  mountain,  and 
Mead’s  boarding-house  in  the  notch  to  the  south  of  it,  came  into  existence. 
Nature  and  man  together  had  thus  prepared  the  ground  and  set  the  stage 
for  the  entrance  of  those  practical  dreamers  who,  as  the  phrase  goes,  were 
finally  to  set  Woodstock  “on  the  map,”  by  giving  it  a position  in  that 
geography  of  the  mind  where  places  are  not  valued  according  to  size, 
population  or  worldly  wealth,  but  because  they  have  attained  a signifi- 
cance for  the  imagination  and  become  symbolic  of  the  higher  successes  of 

[11] 


the  human  spirit.  To  the  map  where  we  find  Sevres,  Barbizon,  Bayreuth 
and  Kelmscott  was  now  to  be  added — Woodstock. 

Probably  no  man  has  had  so  much  influence  in  moulding  the  finer  life  of 
our  time  as  William  Morris,  he  who  once  despairingly  described  himself 
as  “ the  idle  singer  of  an  empty  day,”  and  “dreamer  of  dreams  born  out  of 
my  due  time.”  “Too  quick  despairer”  he  indeed  was,  for  dream  has 
seldom  been  more  potent  than  his,  or  inspired  so  many  disciples  ardent 
to  translate  the  dream  into  the  deed.  Among  these  was  Ralph  Radcliffe 
Whitehead,  who  carried  the  dream  with  him  from  Oxford — where  he  had 
received  it  from  William  Morris’s  own  hands — to  California,  and  there 
found  two  friends  eager  to  share  it  with  him:  the  dream  of  workers  in  the 
arts  and  the  crafts,  associated  but  independent,  working  together  in 
healthy  and  beautiful  surroundings.  To  give  this  dream  a local  habitation 
and  a name.  That  was  the  quest  on  which  these  three  friends  set  out  from 
California  some  twenty  years  ago.  It  took  Mr.  Whitehead  and  Mr.  Hervey 
White  to  the  Carolinas,  but  the  third  friend,  Mr.  Bolton  Coit  Brown,  had 
faith  in  northern  New  York,  and  Mr.  Brown  vividly  tells  the  story  of  how 
for  three  weeks  he  tramped  through  the  Catskills  seeking  its  likeliest  and 
loveliest  valley.  His  quest  ended  one  day,  when,  torn  by  bush  and  briar, 
he  emerged  from  the  Overlook  wilderness  at  Meads’  boarding-house,  and, 
having  asked  Mr.  Mead,  who  eyedhim  with  some  surprise, for  a needle  and 
thread  to  darn  his  slashed  habiliments,  stood  looking  down  on  Woodstock 

Like  stout  Cortez , when  with  eagle  eyes 
He  star'd  at  the  Pacific . 

His  next  request  was  to  be  directed  to  a telegraph  office,  which  having 
found,  he  telegraphed  Mr.  Whitehead  his  discovery.  Soon  after  the  three 
friends  were  at  Meads  together,  and  the  result  was  the  deposit  in  the 
Kingston  bank  in  Mr.  Whitehead’s  name  of  $10,000  to  go  towards  the 
purchase  of  the  mountain  land  where  “ Byrdcliffe  ” now  stands.  The  nego- 
tiation of  this  purchase  was  entrusted  to  Mr.  Brown,  and  it  was  one  that 
needed  no  little  diplomacy,  for,  unprofitable  as  the  boulder-strewn  acres 
might  seem,  and  were,  the  farmers  who  owned  them  had,  or  discovered,  a 
rooted  affection  for  them,  which  it  needed  all  Mr.  Brown’s  persuasiveness 
to  overcome.  Mr.  Brown  tells  a story  of  one  farmer  who  held  out  longer 
than  the  others.  One  day  Mr.  Brown  came  upon  him  when  he  was  engaged 
in  plowing  his  “stubborn  glebe,”  and  having  watched  him  awhile  turning 
out  boulder  after  boulder,  he  spoke: 

“You  know,”  he  said,  “if  you’d  sell  this  land  of  yours  and  take  the 
money  I want  to  give  you  for  it,  you  could  go  down  in  the  valley  and  buy 
a site  where  you  wouldn’t  have  to  be  turning  over  rocks  before  planting 
anything.” 

The  old  man  stopped,  thumbed  the  tobacco  down  into  his  corn-cob, 
and  replied: 

“Wall  — yes!  But  I don’t  seem  to  be  minding  it  any — do  I ? ” 

It  was  a characteristic  Yankee  answer,  but  Yankee  common  sense 

[12] 


equally  characteristic  finally  won  the  day,  and  the  land  passed  to  Mr. 
Whitehead. 

Mr.  Whitehead  began  by  building  a number  of  cottages,  a class  studio, 
and  an  inn  in  which  to  lodge  craftsmen  and  students,  with  Mr.  Fordyce 
Herrick  as  builder  and  Mr.  Herrick  and  himself  as  collaborating  architects. 
A farm  was  included  in  Mr.  Whitehead’s  scheme  and  Mr.  Hervey  White 
was  the  man  chosen  to  run  it.  Mr.  Bolton  Brown,  who  had  now  given  up 
his  position  as  head  of  the  Art  Department  in  Stanford  University,  Mr. 
Carl  Eric  Lindin,  Mr.  Birge  Harrison,  Mr.  Herman  Dudley  Murphy,  Mr. 
Dawson  Watson,  and,  two  years  later,  Mr.  Leonard  Ochtman,  had  charge 
of  the  painting  classes.  Furniture  making  and  weaving  were  early  among 
the  Byrdcliffe  activities,  Miss  Edna  Walker  and  Miss  Zulma  Steele  de- 
signing the  furniture;  and,  among  the  weavers,  Miss  Marie  Little, working 
independently,  set  up  her  looms  there  in  1904,  making  rugs  and  other 
beautiful  products  of  her  art.  Metal  working  was  in  the  hands  of  Mr. 
Edward  Thatcher  who  organized  the  metal  shop,  subsequently  building  a 
work-shop  of  his  own,  and  Miss  Bertha  Thompson  was  soon  engaged  in 
creating  those  beautiful  things  in  silver  and  copper  and  jewelry  for  which 
she  is  distinguished.  Miss  Edith  Penman  and  Miss  Elizabeth  Hardenburg, 
too,  opened  their  pottery,  which  still  flourishes.  All  these  activities,  indeed, 
prospered,  with  the  exception  of  the  furniture-making  which  Mr.White- 
head,  after  a time,  abandoned  finding  it  impracticable  to  compete  with 
the  large  commercial  manufacturers.  As  an  alternative,  he  and  Mrs. 
Whitehead  took  to  pottery  themselves,  and  they  still  make  it. 

It  is  not  difficult  to  imagine  the  condescending  attitude  of  the  Holland- 
Dutch  farmers  towards  this  sudden  inroad  of  crazy  folk  with  easels  and 
all  manner  of  “new-fangled”  ideas  and  habiliments,  an  attitude  half- 
amused,  half  hostile.  One  of  them,  recently  interviewed  as  to  what  he 
thought  of  the  artists  when  they  first  came  to  Byrdcliffe,  replied: 

“Wall,  to  tell  the  truth  we  thought  they  was  a bunch  of  wild  Indians 
and  maybe  some  of  them  still  is.  In  those  days  they’d  take  a canvas  out 
into  the  field  and  begin  painting  on  it.  First,  they’d  put  a dab  of  paint  of 
one  color  and  take  about  ten  steps  back  to  see  how  it  looked — and  then 
he’d  put  another  dab  on  till  it  was  all  dabbed  up  and  by  the  time  that  picture 
was  finished  what  with  all  the  walking  back  and  forth  to  look  at  it — there 
wasn’t  nothing  left  of  the  vegetable  garden  the  artist  was  tramping  on.” 

But  the  name  of  another  deserves  to  be  recorded  in  grateful  remem- 
brance, as  an  early  friend  of  these  artistic  out-landers,  that  of  Mr.  Levi 
Harder  of  Rock  City,  who  according  to  an  informant  of  mine  “declared  in 
more  than  one  tribal  seance  about  the  roasting,  roaring  stove  in  Byde 
Snyder’s  old  store  (long  since  burned  down,  its  site  now  being  occupied  by 
the  store  of  Elwyn  Brothers — who  also  deserve  honored  mention  as  early 
friends  of  the  new  era),  that  it  was  a good  thing  for  the  farmers  to  have 
city  people  settle  amongst  them,  and  pointed  out  the  inevitable  process  of 
profits  to  be  derived  from  the  stranger  within  their  gates.  Trade  was  good 
to  have.  Development  was  all  right.” 

[ 13  } 


After  all  Uncle  Sam’s  dollar  is  a dollar,  however  come  by,  though  it  is 
always  hard  at  first  for  the  unsophisticated  to  believe  that  “real  money” 
can  be  earned  in  such  frivolous  employ  as  painting,  writing  or  fiddling. 
“They  pay  you  for  that !”  once  said  a sceptic,  looking  at  a page  of  Robert 
Louis  Stevenson’s  manuscript;  and  it  will  be  recalled  how  even  Carlyle 
could  hardly  regard  poetry  as  an  honest  occupation. 

“ But,  Alfred, ’’said  he  toTennyson,  in  the  well-known  anecdote,  “when 
are  you  going  to  do  some  real  work?” 

In  this  connection  a personality  who  must  certainly  not  be  forgotten 
from  this  necessarily  too  brief  and  desultory  chronicle  was  Mrs.  Magee,  a 
farmer’s  wife  living  at  Rock  City,  affectionately  known  to  all  the  young 
artists  as  “Mother  Magee.”  She  made  it  her  business  to  feed  many  of 
them  in  her  great  kitchen,  and  the  excellence  of  her  dinners  is  still  tradi- 
tional whenever  Woodstockians  get  together  of  an  evening  for  talk  of  the 
old  times.  But  she  was  more  than  an  inspired  cook,  she  was  overflowing 
withhuman  kindliness  and  hearty  humour  andno  little  native  intelligence, 
and  while  she  was  too  busy  feeding  her  hungry  young  people  grouped 
about  her  kitchen  table  to  sit  down  with  them,  she  was  never  left  out  from 
their  mirth  and  those  discussions  on  art  and  every  subject  under  the  sun 
which  set  the  table  on  a roar  after  the  manner  of  artistic  youth  in  all  ages. 
The  kitchen  indeed  made  a sort  of  artistic  centre  of  the  gay  “vie  de 
Boheme”  which  was  a feature  of  Woodstock  then  as  still  today.  “Her 
opinion  was  asked  on  every  question”  (I  have  it  from  Mr.  McFee  as  well 
as  others  of  that  golden  age), “and  she  even  decided  an  argument,  though 
it  was  generally  with  a compromise  that  would  hurt  no  one’s  feelings.  She 
would  often  put  her  hands  on  John  F.  Carlson’s  head  (Mr.  Carlson,  then 
as  now,  the  life  of  any  company  in  which  he  happened  to  be),  and  say — 
“‘Oh,  you,  you’re  a great  man  now,  aren’t  you?  With  your  singing  and 
your  going  off  with  the  young  girls  pretending  to  paint.’” 

For,  serious  in  their  art  as  these  young  artists  were,  they  did  not  allow 
their  seriousness  to  interfere  with  the  joyousness  of  living,  and  gay  parties 
of  all  sorts,  dances  and  concerts  and  moonlight  flirtations,  were  as  much  a 
part  of  their  student  life  as  those  classes  which,  indeed,  under  Mr.  Carl- 
son’s gay  leadership  were  often  held  in  the  moonlight  too. 

But  to  return  to  the  farmers,  even  those  who  looked  cynically  on  at  the 
building  of  Byrdcliffe,  have  long  since  become  warm  friends  and  support- 
ers of  the  Woodstock  artists.  Said  Emerson  of  a certain  New  England 
farmer — 

“ Another  crop  thine  acres  yield 
Which  I gather  in  a song  ’ 

and  the  Woodstock  farmers  have  become  accustomed  to  the  truth  of  those 
lines,  long  realized  that  there  are  harvests  of  beauty  to  be  garnered  from 
their  fields  as  well  as  harvests  of  oats  and  rye.  Said  Mr.  Harder  once  to 
John  Carlson:  “I  never  noticed  that  the  sky  was  blue  until  you  fellows 
came.”  They  have  hospitably  given  the  freedom  of  their  pastures  and 

[14] 


woodlands  to  painters  with  their  umbrellas,  they  attend  the  Maverick 
concerts  with  enthusiasm  and  regard  the  Maverick  Festival  as  their  own 
institution. 

They  are  no  longer  alarmed  at  poets  wandering  at  their  stream-sides  in 
quest  of  “copy;”  they  have  even  become  hardened  to  “the  breast  of  the 
nymph  in  the  brake,”  as  some  beautiful  model  poses  in  the  greenwood, 
and  the  one-piece  naiads  haunting  their  mountain  brooks  no  longer 
affright  them.  They  have  become  inured,  too,  to  all  sorts  of  picturesque 
outlanders,  of  weird  ways  and  weird  costumes,  and,  though  the  dead  in 
the  village  graveyards  may  occasionally  turn  in  their  graves,  their  de- 
scendents  never  turn  a hair. 

Among  the  artists  associated  with  Mr.  Whitehead  was  the  well-known 
painter,  Birge  Harrison,  who  in  the  winter  of  1905  was  asked  to  take 
charge  of  a class  in  landscape  painting  which  the  Art  Students’  League  of 
New  York  proposed  to  establish  at  Lyme,  Conn.,  the  following  summer. 
Lyme  did  not  strike  Mr.  Harrison  as  a fortunate  choice,  and  he  suggested 
Woodstock  instead.  The  alternative  was  accepted  and  thus,  early  in  June, 
1906,  the  Woodstock  School  of  Landscape  Painting  came  into  being. 
Among  the  students  of  the  first  year  were  John  F.  Carlson  and  Andrew 
Dasburg,  both  of  whom  became  associated  with  the  school  as  instructors. 
Three  years  later  when  the  registration  numbered  more  than  one  hundred, 
Mr.  Harrison  passed  on  the  direction  of  the  school  to  John  F.  Carlson,  who 
with  the  assistance  of  Walter  Goltz,  the  League’s  right  hand  man  in  Wood- 
stock,  until  1922,  and  then  of  Frank  Swift  Chase,  conducted  it  for  a num- 
ber of  years.  In  1919  Charles  Rosen  took  charge,  the  following  summer  a 
class  in  outdoor  figure  painting  was  started  with  Andrew  Dasburg  as  in- 
structor. Two  years  later  he  resigned  and  Eugene  Speicher, Robert  Henri, 
Leon  Kroll,and  George  Bellows  continued  it  for  one  year.  In  i922Hayley 
Lever  was  given  entire  charge  of  both  figure  and  landscape  classes. 

While,  so  to  speak,  serving  their  apprenticeship  at  the  League,  the  per- 
sonalities of  the  more  individual  among  the  students  was  naturally  develop- 
ing along  their  own  lines,  and  as,  one  by  one,  they  left  the  school,  they 
withdrew  into  their  own  separate  hermitages  or  studios  to  work  out  the 
problem  of  expressing  them.  These  painters  at  the  same  time  had  much  in 
common,  as  experimenters  in  the  newer  ideas  of  painting  then  in  the  air  or 
wafted  overseas  from  France;  and  so  many  of  them  had  settled  them- 
selves in,  or  in  the  neighborhood  of  Rock  City  that  they  began  to  be  known 
as  the  Rock  City  group.  Anyone  who  knows  anything  of  painters  or  young 
artists  generally,  can  easily  imagine  the  continual  enthusiastic  threshing- 
out  of  aesthetic  theories  among  themselves.  All  this  fervid  disputation 
naturally  went  on  to  the  accompaniment  of  gay  parties,  none  the  less  gay 
because  the  Volstead  Act  had  not  yet  chilled  the  blood  of  mankind.  That 
wolf  too  which  has  haunted  the  door  of  artists  from  time  immemorial  not 
infrequently  prowled  about  Rock  City;  for  original  art,  perhaps  all  the 
better  forit,is  never  lucrative.  But, like  all  artists,  those  of  Rock  City  took 
the  ups  and  downs  of  fortune  with  courageous  gaiety,  and  made  fun  even 

[15] 


of  its  own  occasional  “blues.”  One  such  gloomy  moment  was  turned  into 
hilarity  in  the  following  characteristic  fashion.  “Art  is  dead,”  they  cried, 
“let  us  bury  him .”  The  idea  was  at  once  taken  up  with  enthusiasm.  An  old 
tombstone  was  found  for  the  purpose,  and  a grave  duly  dug  in  the  front 
yard  of  one  of  the  studios.  Into  this  was  thrown  canvas  after  canvas,  each 
artist  eager  to  make  his  derisive  contribution  to  the  ceremony.  It  is  to  be 
hoped  that  the  site  of  that  grave  is  remembered,  and  indeed  it  deserves  its 
memorial  day,  for  it  has  proved  to  be  an  historic  spot.  This  anecdote 
comes  to  me  from  one  of  the  Rock  City  people,  who  also  says: 

“From  being  together  so  much,  and  because  our  ideas  of  painting  and 
sculpture  were  different  from  those  of  the  Woodstock  painters,  they  began 
to  call  us  the  Rock  City  Group.  Several  of  us  sent  out  an  exhibition 
which  traveled  through  the  country  under  the  title — ‘Paintings  by  the 
Rock  City  Group.’  Jimmie  Wardwell  was  often  with  us  in  those  days,  a 
most  gracious  and  generous  person,  a bit  older  than  most  of  us  but  young 
in  his  enthusiasms  for  pictures  and  people.  He  and  Putnam  Brindley  and 
Dasburg  had  formed  the  ‘Sunflower  Club.’  They  wanted  to  see  a picture 
made  of  clear  color  undisturbed  by  the  tone  of  a mood.  They  preferred  to 
paint  on  bright  sunny  days  when  the  motif  stood  clearly  revealed.” 
Among  the  most  striking  work  being  done  was  that  of  John  Carlson, 
George  Macrum,  and  Eugene  Speicher.  Their  work  was  being  accepted  at 
the  National  Academy  of  Design  and  also  shown  in  other  important  ex- 
hibitions throughout  the  country.  In  191 1,  Carlson  was  elected  a member 
of  the  Academy  and  the  same  honor  was  conferred  on  Speicher  in  1912. 
Among  the  notable  students  of  these  years,  most  of  whom  have  settled  in 
Woodstock  are  Marion  Bullard,  Grace  Mott  Johnson,  Alan  Cochrane, 
Cecil  Chichester,  John  Folinsbee,  Frank  Swift  Chase,  and  Harry  Leith- 
Ross,  all  of  whom  have  since  achieved  success.  There  have  been  other 
schools  both  of  painting  and  the  crafts  from  time  to  time,  among  which 
were  the  Blue  Dome  Fraternity  at  Shady,  run  by  Louise  Johnson  and 
Dewing  Woodward;  the  School  of  Edmund  Rolfe,  a distinguished  crafts 
worker  and  jeweler,  and  that  of  Capt.  H.  L.  Jenkinson,  another  metal 
worker,  and  several  painting  classes,  notably,  that  of  William  Schumacher 
at  Byrdcliffe.  Afew  amongthe  many  independent  artistswho  come  to  mind 
are  such  names  asMyra  Carr, Florence  Lucius,  Abastinia  St.Leger  Eberle, 
and  Alfeo  Faggi  as  sculptors;  Arthur  B.  Carles,  Paul  Dougherty,  Paul 
Cornoyer,  J.  Francis  Murphy,  Mrs.  Eve  W.  Schutze  and  Alfred  Hutty  as 
painters,  and  surely  not  to  be  forgotten  in  the  Woodstock  story  are  those 
stormy  petrels,  Robert  Chanler,  who  in  his  time  has  played  many  parts, 
including  the  sheriff  of  Ulster  County,  and  Hunt  Deiderick,  as  well  as 
Jaache  Scwamd,  that  amazing  Play  Boy,  the  memory  of  whom  will 
always  bring  a smile  to  those  who  knew  him. 

A long  cherished  dream  of  Woodstock  artists  had  been  a gallery  where 
they  could  exhibit  their  work,  first  for  their  own  benefit  as  artists,  in  that 
they  would  thus  be  able  to  see  what  their  confreres  were  doing  and  com- 
pare notes,  and  next  that  their  various  achievements  might  be  on  record 

[16] 


for  the  public  at  large.  With  this  in  view,  Mr.  Dasburg,  Mr.  Carlson,  Mr. 
McFee,  Mr.  Frank  Chase,  and  Mr.  Eric  Lindin  organized  the  Woodstock 
Realty  Co.  as  a stock  company — the  stock  of  which  is  owned  exclusively 
by  Woodstock  artists  and  local  sympathizers — which  built  and  leased  the 
charming  building  now  facing  the  village  green  to  the  Woodstock  Art 
Association,  the  various  expenses  of  which  are  at  present  met  by  the  rent- 
ing of  wall-space;  the  ultimate  intention  being  that  the  artists  shall  be 
able  to  exhibit  there  free  of  charge.  Captain  Jenkinson,  well-known  for  his 
metal  work,  Miss  Wardwell  and  others  cooperated  generally  with  the 
founders  in  this  scheme,  and  Mr.  Murrell  Fisher,  the  writer,  was  the  first 
curator,  being  followed  by  Miss  Marinobel  Smith.  The  “Preamble  to  the 
Constitution”  of  the  Woodstock  Art  Association  contains  the  following 
significant  clauses: 

“The  Art  Colony  of  Woodstock,  being  unique  and  fortunate  among  art 
colonies  in  representing  a great  diversity  and  variety  of  artistic  expres- 
sion, including  painting,  sculpture,  the  crafts  and  applied  arts,  has  formed 
an  xMti\.ssociation  for  the  purpose  of  bringing  together  in  an  annual  exhi- 
bition all  these  arts. 

“It  is  the  purpose  of  the  Association  in  these  exhibitions  to  give  free 
and  equal  expression  to  the  ‘Conservative’  and  ‘Radical’  elements,  be- 
cause it  believes  a strong  difference  of  opinion  is  a sign  of  health  and  an 
omen  of  long  life  for  the  colony  . . . 

“The  Board  of  Directors  shall  be  composed  of  five  members  of  the 
‘Radical  Group,’  and  five  members  of  the  ‘Conservative  Group.’” 

The  admirable  wisdom  and  fairness  of  this  is  evident,  and  cannot  but 
be  conducive,  as  the  Association  hopes,  of  long  life  to  the  Art  Colony  of 
Woodstock. 

But  in  addition  to  painting  and  the  allied  arts,  Woodstock  is  also 
already  famous  for  its  music,  and  this  further  renown  is  due  chiefly  to  Mr. 
Hervey  White. 

No  figure  is  better  known  in  Woodstock  than  that  of  Hervey  White, 
combining  as  he  does  in  a sort  of  shaggy  preciosity  of  appearance  all  the 
elements  of  its  varied  life.  Hirsute  as  his  own  “ Maverick  ” hillside,  thatched 
with  rough  curls,  and  “bearded  like  the  pard,”  he  suggests  the  God  Pan 
in  a pink  blouse  and  workmen’s  trousers.  Eager,  young-eyed,  keen  and 
yet  dreaming,  shy  and  yet  forceful,  he  comes  along  the  open  road,  like  one 
of  Whitman’s  “ Cameradoes,”  always  loafing  and  gay,  and  always  at  work 
on  his  thousand  and  one  schemes.  Au fond , a poet  and  man-of-letters,  he 
is  printer,  publisher,  editor,  builder,  farmer,  impresario,  restaurateur,  and 
landlord  of  studios  besides,  the  helpful  friend  and  fellow  of  us  all.  But 
nowadays  he  is , par  excellence , impresario  of  that  music  for  which  Wood- 
stock  has  become  no  less  famous  than  for  its  painting. 

“Maverick,”  I should  explain,  is  the  whimsical  name  given  by  Hervey 
White  to  the  little  settlement,  chiefly  composed  of  musicians,  which, 
when  the  original  Woodstock  triumvirate,  after  the  manner  of  some  grow- 
ing organisms,  differentiated  in  the  course  of  events,  he  set  about  building, 

[17] 


one  little  studio  at  a time,  on  a stretch  of  rough  woodland  on  the  south- 
western slope  of  Mount  Ohio,  a little  off  the  Kingston  Road  as  it  runs 
between  West  Hurley  and  Woodstock.  A printing  press  which  Mr.  White 
worked  with  his  own  hands  was  one  of  its  first  activities.  On  that  press  he 
set  up  some  of  his  own  writings,  as  also  “The  Plowshare,”  a magazine  of 
the  type  which  used  to  be  described  as  “freak,”  modernist  alike  in  letter- 
press  and  woodcut  illustrations,  with  which  Mr.  Allen  Updegraff  and 
Gustav  Hellstrom  were  associated  with  Mr.  White  as  editors.  It  was  to 
start  this  press  that  the  sister  art  of  music  was  first  called  in.  Mr.  White 
shall  tell  the  story  in  his  own  words: 

“When  money  was  needed  to  install  the  Maverick  press,  Mr.  Paul 
Kefer  was  brought  forth  to  give  a recital  in  the  Firemen’s  Hall  in  Wood- 
stock  which  netted  the  required  sum  and  incidentally  established  the  idea 
of  concerts.  Horace  Britt,  Pierre  Henrotte,  Henri  Michaux,  John  Grolle 
and  Leon  Barzin,  having  become  residents  of  the  Maverick,  a string 
quartet  was  made  up  to  meet  the  demands  of  the  Red  Cross  Society  in  the 
war  and  successful  concerts  were  given.  About  this  time  the  Maverick 
needed  a well,  being  situated  on  the  dry  side  of  a mountain,  for  a moun- 
tain, like  a temperance  argument,  usually  has  its  dry  and  its  wet  side.  The 
well  went  deeper  and  deeper  and  the  mountain  became  dryer  and  dryer. 
The  cost  proved  to  be  over  fifteen  hundred  dollars  and  I decided  to  give  a 
show  to  pay  it  off.  The  result  was  the  first  Maverick  Festival  which  has 
been  now  for  eight  years  an  established  event.  Such  hearty  cooperation 
was  shown  by  the  Woodstock  artists  in  the  first  festival  that  the  idea  of  a 
hall  and  weekly  concerts  seemed  attainable.  The  hall  was  erected  and  the 
next  summer,  Charles  Cooper,  Edward  Kreiner  and  Engelbert  Roentgen 
were  inveigled  into  the  group  and  the  Sunday  programs  proved  successful 
from  the  start.  It  is  our  proud  boast  that  from  the  start  the  Maverick 
Sunday  concerts  have  been  self-supporting.  At  present  the  resident  artists 
include  in  their  number:  three  concert  masters  of  leading  orchestras, 
three  first  violas  and  three  first  ’cellos  with  pianists  and  accompanists  ol 
equal  importance.  Added  to  the  names  already  given  are : Alfred  Megerlin, 
Gustav  Tinlot,  Armand  Combel,  Anselm  Fortier,  Paul  Lemay,  Georges 
Grisez,  Harrison  W.  Johnson,  Inez  Carroll,  and  Ruth  M.  Conniston. 
Recitals  have  been  given  by  Edward  and  Gaston  Dethier,  David  and 
Clara  Mannes,  Edward  Dern,  Edwin  Grasse  and  Andre  Polah.  The  Letz 
Quartet  was  in  residence  in  1921  and  the  San  Francisco  String  Quartet 
made  a visit  in  1922. 

“Quite  apart  from  musicians  we  have  permitted  novelists  and  poets  to 
abide  with  us,  Gustav  Hellstrom  and  Hughes  Mearns  being  the  best 
known.  Henry  Richardson  Linville  has  kept  up  the  end  of  scientific 
authorship  and  Hippolite  Havel,  the  extreme  left  of  radicalism.  A pottery 
shop  and  kiln  have  been  built  by  Carl  Walters.” 

Literature,  as  Mr.  Hervey  White  has  hinted,  has  not  gone  unrepre- 
sented in  Woodstock.  Byrdcliffe  has  its  memories  of  John  Burroughs, 
and,  till  his  recent  untimely  death,  Woodstock  was  proud  to  number 

[18] 


Walter  Weyl  among  its  villagers,  a man  who  could  make  political  economy 
almost  as  attractive  as  a love  affair;  such  was  the  charm  of  his  style.  As  a 
national  publicist,  and  as  a shaper  of  original  and  honest  political  pro- 
grams, his  name  is  known  to  all,  while  his  influence  on  Roosevelt  and  the 
part  played  by  him  in  the  last  Bull  Moose  campaign  are  matters  of  recent 
American  history.  But,  the  charm  of  the  man  himself,  revealed  even  in 
the  most  casual  contact  . . . how  Woodstock  misses  that ! Happily  for 
those  who  possess  the  book,  no  little  of  this  is  caught  in  a “garland”  of 
memorial  papers  written  by  his  friends  and  associates  of  “The  New 
Republic”  to  whom,  as  to  him,  his  house  “Hill  Crest,”  on  Mount  Ohio, 
was  so  long  a haven  of  talk  and  laughter.  Among  these  friends  is  Martin 
Schiitze,  a name  not  to  be  forgotten  in  a chronicle  of  Woodstock.  Other 
writers  who  have  found  inspiration  in  Woodstock  are  Edwin  Schoon- 
maker,  Grace  Fallow-Norton,  Anne  Moore,  Professor  Shotwell,  Isabel 
Moore,  Edwin  Bjorkman,  and  Roy  Rolfe  Gilson. 

Woodstock  has  come  to  represent  a real,  unaffected  camaraderie  of  all 
manner  of  men  and  women,  races,  nationalities  and  occupations  in  the 
various  arts  of  life,  from  those  most  ancient  arts  of  the  husbandman  that 
“make  the  cornfields  glad,”  to  the  most  nouveau  art  of  cubist  and  dadaist 
that  occasionally  make  the  poor  conservative  grieve  and  enforce  the 
tamiliar  truth  that  beauty  is,  beyond  argument,  in  the  eyes  of  the  beholder. 

As  to  that,  the  Woodstock  Art  Gallery,  in  its  unbiased  eclecticism, 
illustrates  that  other  old  saying  of  the  lion  and  the  lamb  living  happily 
side  by  side.  Painters  of  all  sorts  do  their  best,  at  least,  to  admire  each 
other,  to  understand  what  the  other  fellow  is  doing  or  trying  to  do.  All  are 
working  together  in  the  interests  of  that  broader  and  richer  humanity 
with  which  the  arts,  rather  than  the  mere  businesses  of  life,  are  concerned. 

Woodstock  is  not  a “community”  in  that  tiresome,  artificial  sense 
which  one  has  come  to  associate  with  the  word.  Here  is  no  arbitrary 
“centre”  of  sophisticated  “intellectuals,”  but  such  bond  as  there  is  is  free 
and  flexible  and  humanly  social,  and  has  come  about  naturally  from  men 
and  women  of  like  dreams  and  tastes  dwelling  together  in  one  of  those 
beautiful  places- of  the  earth  where  nature  herself  is  an  artist — mountains 
and  streams 

Where  the  Muses  dwell 
Fairest  of  all  things  fair. 


( The  writer  desires  to  express  his  obligation  to  Miss 
Marinobel  Smith , Mrs.  Isabel  Moore , Mr.  Ralph  Rad- 
cliff  e Whitehead , Mr.  Henry  L.  McFee , Mr.  Andrew  Das- 
burg , Mr.  Hervey  White  and  Mr.  Birge  Harrison  for  their 
kind  assistance  in  supplying  him  with  data  for  the  above 
sketch .) 


[19] 


NOCTURNE 

By  Peggy  Bacon 
[20] 


MISS  KATHERINE  ROSEN 

By  George  Bellows 

[ 21  ] 


HI 


FOREST  POOL 

By  John  F.  Carlson 

[22] 


MEDITATION 

By  John  Carroll 

[23] 


AUTUMN  LIGHTS 

By  Frank  Chase 

[24] 


RED  BARNS 


By  Konrad  Cramer 


NEW  MEXICAN  LANDSCAPE 

By  Andy'ew  Dasburg 

[26} 


STATUETTE 

By  Alfeo  Faggi 

[27] 


WOODSTOCK  MEADOWS 

By  Birge  Harrison 

[28] 


BEAD  EMBROIDERED  BAG 

By  Mary  Elizabeth  Jenkinson 
[ 29] 


SCULPTURE 

By  Grace  Mott  Johnson 

[30] 


LANDSCAPE 

By  Georgina  Klitgard 

[31] 


MORNING  IN  MIDSUMMER 

By  Leon  Kroll 
[32] 


GREY  DAY 

By  Harry  Leith-Ross 
[33} 


LANDSCAPE 

By  Carl  Eric  Lin  din 

{34] 


STILL  LIFE 

By  Henry  Lee  McFee 
[35] 


LANDSCAPE 

By  Paul  Rohland 


RAILROAD  BRIDGE 

By  Charles  Rosen 


[37] 


SOUTHERN  SLAV 

By  Eugene  Speicher 

[38] 


ALAN 

By  Rudolf  W etterau 
[39] 


IDYLL 

By  Warren  Wheelock 

[4°] 


it 


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VAN  WAGENEN’S 

3 i i WALL  STREET 
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KINGSTON’S 
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DOC-SMITH’S  GARAGE 

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BOOK  AND  ART  STORE 

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IF  IT’S  SUMMER  — 

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cold  refreshing  ice  cream  soda  or  a sundae. 

IF  IT’S  WINTER— 

Don  t forget  to  close  the  door  after  you — pull  up  a chair 
and  toast  your  toes  by  the  old  Kalamazoo  and  have  a cup 
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Steamers  leave  New  York  City,  Outer  End  Pier  43, 
Foot  of  Christopher  Street 

Steamer  Robert  A.  Snyder 
Mondays , Wednesdays  and  Fridays  at  6.00  P.M. 

Steamer  Ida 

Tuesdays , Thursdays  and  Saturdays  at  6.00  P.M. 

Leaving  Saugerties  every  evening  except  Saturdays  at 

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Woodstock  patrons  may  also  connect  with  New  York 
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8.00  P.  M.  Woodstock  Bus  leaves  Saugerties  Pier 
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That's  because  it  is  the  best  stocked,  finest 
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GENERAL  MERCHANDISE 
BEARSVILLE,  N.  Y. 


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Due  from  Trust  Co.’s 
and  Banks  - 21,420.20 

Real  Estate  - 12,000.00 

Furniture  and 

Fixtures  - 2,300.00 

Stocks  and  Bonds  58,875.42 

Cash 19,211.93 

$523,021.61 


Capital  - 
Surplus  - 
Deposits  - 
Bills  Payable 
Reserved  for  Taxes 


$125,000.00 

41  T33-43 
331,088.18 
25,000.00 
800.00 


$523,021.61 

SAFE  DEPOSIT  VAULT 
OFFICERS 

E.  Clark  Reed,  President  J.  Charles  Suderley,  Vice-President 
Henry  T.  Keeney,  Cashier 


STATE  OF  NEW  YORK 
NATIONAL  BANK 

Red  Building , Corner  of  Wall  and  John  Streets 
Kingston , N.  Y. 

D.  N.  Mathews,  President 
Russell  P.  Clayton,  Cashier 

Capital , Surplus  and  Undivided  Profits 
$325,000 
SAFE  DEPOSIT  BOXES 
Call  and  see  if  we  cannot  please  you 


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THE  FIRST  NATIONAL  BANK 

SAUGERTIES,  N.  Y. 

Capital , Surplus  and  Undivided  Profits,  $283,000 
Resources , $973,000 

John  A.  Snyder,  Pres. 

James  T.  Maxwell,  Vice-Pres.  John  Hallenbeck,  Cashier 

Founded  upon  sound  principles  of  safe,  conserv- 
ative banking,  this  institution  combines  with 
these  policies  an  energetic  progressive  manage- 
ment and  well  developed  facilities  for  prompt 

EFFICIENT  AND  COURTEOUS  SERVICE 

Your  Business  is  Respectfully  Solicited 


SATISFACTION 

It  Means 

Leaving  no  room  for  complaining  and 
faultfinding 

We  have  enjoyed  a very  generous  amount  of  busi- 
ness from  Woodstock  and  vicinity  of  late  years. 

It  has  been  our  greatest  desire  to  give  our  customers 
utmost  satisfaction.  If  we  ever  fail,  we  would  consider 
it  a favor  done,  if  the  case  is  reported. 

Let  us  assure  you  we  have  appreciated  this  trade 
and  respectfully  solicit  a continuance  of  the  same. 

THE  SAUGERTIES 
COAL  AND  LUMBER  CO. 

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A Large  Department  Store 

DRY  GOODS— MILLINERY— READY-TO-WEAR 
GARMENTS— ROYAL  SOCIETY  EMBROIDERY 
FLOSS  AND  STAMPED  PATTERNS— YARNS,  BEADS 
AND  NOVELTIES— RUGS  — SHADES  —LINOLEUMS 
DRAPERY  FABRICS— CURTAINS— SCRIMS 

Here  you  will  always  find  splendid  assorted  stocks.  Cover- 
ing our  three  floors  of  selling  space 


REED  & REED 

AT  THE  GATEWAY  TO  THE  CATSKILLS 

98  and  100  Partition  Street  Saugerties , N.  Y. 


% 


F.  B.  Mathews  J.  W.  Mathews  D.  N.  Mathews 

President  Vice.  Pres.  Sec.  Treas. 

F.  B.  MATTHEWS  & CO. 

(INCORPORATED) 

WHOLESALE  GROCERS 

Proprietors  Colonial  Bra?id  of  Food  Products 
Importers  of  Teas  and  Coffees 
We  roast  and  pack  our  Own  Coffees 
They  are  always  Fresh 
Goods  sold  to  the  trade  Only 

Office , 15  Railroad  Avenue , Kingston , N.  Y. 

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H.  W.  PALENS  SONS 

fjiq  Broadway , Kingston,  N.  Y. 

Lumber  and 
Interior  Trim 


STUYVESANT  GARAGE 

A.  H.  6A  L.  E.  Chambers 
KINGSTON,  NEW  YORK 


Distributers  of 

STUTZ  HUPMOBILE 

OLDSMOBILE  MAXWELL 

We  operate  a fully  equipped  garage  and  service  station 


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GREGORY  &>  CO. 

AMianufacturers  of 

UNFINISHED  FURNITURE 
BEDDING  OF  ALL  KINDS 
CHINA 

Imported  and  ^American 


% 


KINGSTON’S  ONLY  GIFT  SHOP 


% 


The 

MUNSELL 

COLOR 

SYSTEM 

Means  as  Much  to  the 
Colorist  as  the  Musical 
Scale  Means  to  the 
Musician 

The  Atlas  of  the  Munsell  Color 
System — Oils,  Water  Colors, 
Tempera  Colors,  Crayons, 
Pastels,  Etc. 

MUNSELL  COLOR  CO.,  Inc. 

461  Eighth  Ave.,  New  York 

CATALOGUE  ON  REQUEST 


BROADWAY 

GARAGE 

708  Broadway , Kingston 
LEROY  LONGENDYKE 

TELEPHONES 
Office  1034  Residence  181- J 

AUTO  REPAIRING 

Upholstering 

Tops  Re-covered 

Slip  Covers 

Selling  Agents  for 

Mitchell,  Oakland  and 
Chandler  Cars 
Stewart  Trucks 


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CANVAS 

(Linen  and  Cotton) 

FOR  PORTRAIT,  LANDSCAPE,  MURAL 
AND  COMMERCIAL  PAINTING 

in  widths  from  17  inches  to  13  feet  6 inches,  lengths  to 
43  yards,  in  one  piece 

J.  Blockx  Fils , Oil  and  Water  Colors , in  Tubes,  also  Mediums 

“The  Finest  in  the  World” 

Artists'  zJkfateria/s 

Imported  and  Domestic  For  Artist  and  Student 

SCHNEIDER  & COMPANY,  Inc. 

2102  Broadway,  near  73rd  Street  Sole  Agents  Phone  Col.  6386 


H.  SCHMINCKE  &>  CO. 
Artists'  Qolors  of  Highest  Quality 

MUSSINI  OIL  COLORS 
DUSSELDORF  OIL  COLORS 
HORADAM  PATENT  MOIST  WATER  COLORS 
SCHMINCKE  DECORATIVE  OIL  COLORS 
SCHMINCKE  TEMPERA  COLORS  (Superior  Quality) 

SCHMINCKE  STUDENTS  COLORS  (All  Kinds) 

DR.  BUETTNER’S  MEDIUMS  AND  VARNISHES 
MUSSINI  MEDIUMS  AND  VARNISHES 
TEMPERA  MEDIUMS  AND  VARNISHES 
AERO  WHITE  A,  FOR  THE  AIR  BRUSH 
RETOUCHING  COLORS  FOR  PHOTOGRAPHIC  WORK 
MUSSINI  LINEN  CANVAS 
SCHMINCKE  PERMANENT  PASTELS 
MENG’S  FAMOUS  PASTELS 
ALUMINUM  UNBREAKABLE  PALETTES 
ARTISTS’  BRUSHES  OF  THE  HIGHEST  QUALITY 
INSTRUCTIVE  MIXING  TABLE  SHOWING  COMPATIBILITY 
AND  PERMANENCY 

Price  Lists  Upon  Application 

For  sale  by  experienced  Artists’  Material  Dealers  throughout  the  World 

Wholesale  Distributor,  M.  GRUMBACHER 
164.  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York  City,  New  York 

* 

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THE  publishers  want  every  artist  and  all  those 
interested  in  art  to  determine  whether  the  new 
International  Studio  in  its  presentation  of  the  sig- 
nificant and  inspiring  things  in  art  all  over  the  world, 
through  articles  and  numerous  reproductions — more 
than  one  hundred  in  full  color  and  in  black-and-white 
in  each  issue — is  not  worthy  of  their  patronage. 

For  that  reason  an  introductory  subscription  rate  is 
offered  especially  for  them  of  four  months  at  a nominal 
cost — two  dollars — one  dollar  less  than  the  price  of 
four  copies  bought  monthly  at  the  news-stands. 

The  necessary  order  form  is  found  below. 

The  Publishers, 

49  West  45th  Street,  New  York. 


International  Studio 
yp  West  45th  Street 
New  York , N.  Y. 

I accept  your  special  introductory  subscription  offer  of  four 
months  and  attach  check  for  two  dollars  in  payment  therefor. 


Name 


Address 


City State 

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ARTISTS’  MATERIALS 

-.Jill  fading  Imported  and  \ Domestic  pines 

Oil  Colors — Regular  and  Studio  Size  Tubes 
Brushes — Finest  Hog  Hair , Sable , etc. 

Canvas — All  Widths  and  Surfaces 
Easels  Wooden  Sketch  Boxes  Smocks 
Stretchers — Regular  Sizes  and  Special  Sizes  Made  to  Order 
Framing — A Good  Selection  of  Mouldings 


Everything  for  the  Artist 
Art  Student,  Illustrator 
and  Designer 


Large  Stock 
Competent  Salespeople 
Correct  Prices 


All  Mail  Orders  Shipped  the  Day  Received 

THE  PALETTE  ART  CO 

327  Fifth  Avenue , New  York,  Below  33d  Street 


WINSOR 
NEWTON’S 

OIL  and  WATER 
COLOURS 

OILS,  VARNISHES 
BRUSHES,  CANVAS 
DRAWING  BOARDS 
AND  OTHER 
ARTISTS’  SUPPLIES 

Ask  your  dealer  for  colour 
charts  and  catalogue 

WINSOR  ef  NEWTON 

Incorporated 

ji  East  17th  Street 
NEW  YORK 


Established,  1886 


Incorporated  iqi8 


ARTISTS’ 
PACKING  & 
SHIPPING  CO. 

HARRISON  W.  MILLS 

President  and  General  Manager 

EXHIBITION  AGENTS 
MOVERS,  PACKERS 
SHIPPERS  OF  WORKS 
OF  ART 

139  West  54th  Street 
NEW  YORK 
Telephone , Circle  1149 


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the  Man  Who  Otons  One ” 


SUTLIFF  • INC 

Kingston  • Poughkeepsie 


% * 


